


Playing the Game

by Fudgyokra



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Crimes & Criminals, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Love/Hate, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 07:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10917339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: "My problem is that I can see it in your eyes, Rhys. You really think this is gonna be your YA novel love story, don't ya?" Rhack AU.





	Playing the Game

**Author's Note:**

> While I Wrote:
> 
> Ka-Boom Ka-Boom – Marilyn Manson  
> 505 – Arctic Monkeys  
> Addicted – Saving Abel  
> Training Wheels – Melanie Martinez   
> Strobelight – Gorillaz  
> Trouble – Cage the Elephant  
> Cowboy Casanova – Carrie Underwood
> 
> And, as usual, others that don’t really matter.

 

_Will I come to pass or will I pass the test?_

_You know what they say, yeah, the wicked get no rest._

_You can have my heart any place, any time._

* * *

 

They met on a farm.

Rhys had sworn for years that he would never set foot on one, but this was more his mother’s doing than his own, since she insisted that the situation called for it.

“Mom,” he said, trying to interject his opinion into something she was telling him, “This move is not going to be permanent, no matter what you say. There’s no technology out here, no mall, no…anything.”

On the other end of the call, his mother’s voice rang high and shrill. “You don’t get a choice! It’s way too dangerous in Manhattan. You don’t want to end up like your father, do you?”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “That guy you married isn’t my father, and just because he died doesn’t mean—”

“He was _killed!_ ”

“Right, but—” Before this thought could make its way out of his mouth, the toe of Rhys’s boot collided painfully with the leg of a wooden bench. He didn’t dare risk cursing in front of his Puritan mother, so he abruptly mumbled an excuse and hung up, just before he launched his phone a few feet away into a pile of hay and gripped his foot with a frustrated cry of, “Mother _fucker!_ ”

As it turned out, he was not the only one in the vicinity.

“Woah, kid,” a voice said to him, sounding vaguely impressed, “looks like somebody needs to wash their mouth out.”

Rhys sucked in an embarrassingly loud breath and spun around to face the speaker. If memory served him right, he might have looked upon him with an expression not unlike that of a fish.

The man was tall, with a lean sort of musculature that didn’t quite match his modest business attire, and had a long, angular face with a long, angular mouth currently smirking at him like he owned the place.

“I own this place,” he said, making Rhys rethink the rude introduction he had poised on the tip of his tongue.

“Oh,” he said dumbly. It took him a second to recuperate, but he remembered his manners and extended a hand toward the handsome stranger. “My name is Rhys. Sorry about the, uh, language.” He fought back a grimace; he wasn’t _twelve_ , for christ’s sake.

“I oughta move that stupid thing,” the stranger said, taking his hand and shaking it with two firm, confident dips. He skimmed his fingertips along Rhys’s hands as he pulled away. “You’re not the first to catch it on your way in.”

“Well that’s…good,” Rhys told him, trying to mentally shake off the tickling sensation in his hand.

“Where are my manners?” the other man asked, smiling in a way that made Rhys feel small. “My name is Jack. And it is _very_ nice to meet _you_.”

Rhys made a noise he hoped sounded like a laugh. “Oh, believe me, it is nice to meet you, too.”

Jack’s polite smile finally reached his eyes, which crinkled at the corners. His expression said that he was used to this sort of nervous admiration, so at least Rhys could hold on to a tiny bit of his self-respect.

“So, what’s your story, kid?” Jack asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don’t look like you’re from around here.”

Rhys tried to think of a truthful explanation that did not begin with “my mom made me” and came up short. His sigh spelled out resignation of the highest caliber. “Something happened to my step-dad when he came to visit me in Manhattan, so my mom wants me to move somewhere she thinks is safe.”

“Why isn’t _she_ here?” Jack raised a perfect brow at him, and Rhys found that there may be better things here than stupid barn animals, after all.

“Oh, that,” he said, with a snort, “she doesn’t live where I do—did. Where I did. She just…worries about me being in a big city,” he finished lamely with a sigh through his nose. “And what mother wants, mother gets, ya know?”

“Can’t say I know the feeling,” Jack said, sitting down on the bench that nearly broke Rhys’s foot. “But, hey, we can’t all be mama’s boys.”

Rhys’s nose crinkled, which he feared made the flush across his cheeks obvious. Annoyed, he looked past the man at the barn he’d been heading for in the first place. “I’m not,” he said flatly.

“Daddy’s boy?” Jack guessed. Something about his predatory smirk made Rhys’s spine tingle.

Recalcitrant, Rhys smiled without humor and replied, “Not that, either.” He glanced at the wheelbarrow ( _wheelbarrow!)_ to his right, then back at Jack. “So, how about a tour, huh? I might as well have some fun in hillbilly hell.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jack said, flippantly, as he stood and approached the wheelbarrow himself. “And not as big as you’d think.”

“I can imagine,” Rhys said with a private grin.

“As a matter of fact,” Jack said, matching his tone, “it’s bigger. So we’re gonna take the car, ‘kay, cupcake?”

Rhys did not (would not) look at Jack’s winning expression. “Yeah, whatever,” he muttered in response, trying not to look ruffled.

His mother had better be damn happy with him for this, because he was not going to enjoy it one bit.

//

“ _Fuck!_ Oh, god,” he breathed as his bare back connected with the barn wall. His thighs tightened around Jack’s midsection, and the man in front of him leaned closer to give him another sly, proud grin.

“I thought you’d be more of a quiet type of twink,” he said, amused.

“Shut up,” Rhys gasped more than said, trying to hold himself with arms braced against the wall. It was irritating and hot, even under the shade, and this was not helping his hatred of the outdoors. If anything, it was making it worse—hay floated, he discovered, and every so often he swore he could feel it sticking to his sweaty legs.

“I’m not complaining,” Jack said, seeming satisfied with the crumbling mess he’d reduced his guest to, “but I’m usually pretty spot-on with these sort of things, ya know?”

Rhys wanted to punch the smug bastard right in the face.

In his hour here, he had learned a couple of things: One, that this unassuming, country bed and breakfast belonged to the billionaire CEO of a major corporation that Rhys had actually heard of, and two, that the aforementioned billionaire CEO was a huge, gaping, _asshole_.

Within the first few minutes of them meeting, Rhys realized that Jack was not exactly an inconspicuous flirter. And, in that same vein of thought, he was kind of a whore. Unashamedly so. Though, Rhys couldn’t exactly say that he, himself, didn’t relate.

The grounds were, as Jack described them, huge. The animals there were a popular attraction, but Rhys couldn’t imagine the appeal of gross, stinking livestock living on the same campus as he did. It lowered the already-low appeal of a countryside inn, but, he _had_ promised his mother he would give it a shot.

And Rhys did not go back on a promise.

“Jesus,” he groaned, tipping his head back when Jack attached his mouth to his neck and began lapping, sucking, biting the exposed flesh.

“I think you’re really gonna like it here,” Jack said against his neck, panting in between words. Rhys still wanted to punch him. “And I think I’m gonna like you bein’ here.”

“Yeah? We’ll see,” Rhys replied, digging his nails into the other’s shoulders.

“That we will,” Jack said, smugly.

//

He had been here for a long, grueling week before he finally decided that he and Jack should have their first real conversation.

It was late on Saturday night when he found him, lounging on the hideous green porch swing he kept at the front of the main building.

Most of the inn’s inhabitants retired to their rooms at nine. Unsurprisingly, most of the people staying there were either elderly or on business, so none of them were willing to keep Rhys company in the later hours except, as luck would have it, Mister CEO himself, dressed to the nines as usual despite the quaint rural setting he surrounded himself with.

Rhys had been wondering about that for the last few days, and, with the two of them now occupying the swing, he finally let his curiosity win over.

“Why do you dress like that?” he asked, not looking at him.

Jack leaned back in the swing and crossed his arms behind his head. All that was missing was a strand of grass hanging from his lips. Rhys tried to imagine this as Jack answered, and found himself chuckling at the thought.

“Yeah, ha-ha,” Jack replied, unamused.

Rhys cleared his throat. He hadn’t actually heard what the man had been saying. “Sorry, I was thinking about something,” he admitted.

“Shocker,” Jack said, not even having to look to know that Rhys was frowning at him. “What about?”

Rhys pursed his lips and glanced out across the yard and into the night. “Honestly? That you look more out of place here than I do.”

“Ah, well, sometimes you just gotta get away.” Jack surprised him by affixing him with a sober expression. “I know you hate to hear it, but those big cities really do have their disadvantages.”

“I guess,” Rhys said, crossing his ankle over his knee. “Like, back home we had this crime problem, and I bet this place doesn’t have shit like that happening every day, so I can see where you’re coming from.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Oh, I smell a good story there.”

Rhys scoffed. “Whatever. My stupid, dickhole step-dad got murdered or something.”

“Don’t be like that, cutie,” Jack said, smiling conspiratorially as he reached out to grab the other man’s chin. “I wanna know what dragged you here so conveniently into my life.”

Rhys rolled his eyes skyward and cleared his throat. “Well, uh, there’s this guy.”

“A guy, huh?”

“Not that kind of guy.” Rhys’s lips became a thin line. “We have this…vigilante weirdo that our town is kinda known for by this point. He’s some serial killer that targets guys like my step-father.”

Jack let go of his chin and leaned away from him. “Really?” he asked, licking his lips with interest. “What kind of guy was your step-dad?”

“Ah, you know: a wealthy, middle-aged business owner. Passed his free time sucking his own dick.”

“Impressive.”

“It was a joke.”

“I mean the business-owner part.”

“Oh.” Rhys raised one corner of his mouth into something vaguely resembling a smile. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, you own a business. How hard can it be?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

“You’re also middle-aged.”

“Not _yet,_ ” Jack said, barking a humorless laugh. “Don’t get on my nerves, kid.”

Rhys batted his eyelashes in faux sweetness. “Who, me?”

“Wait a minute. How old are _you?_ ” Jack asked, suddenly looking concerned.

Rhys narrowed his eyes. “You are such an asshole.”

“Nah, I’m serious. I’m _thirty_. I thought you were, what? Twenty-five?”

“Nineteen,” Rhys said, feeling weirdly embarrassed.

“Oh, god,” Jack said, half-snorting, half-laughing. “Remind me why I banged you, again?”

“Because I came onto you?” Rhys ventured, grinning with his teeth. “And I’m really good at getting my way?”

“Guess so,” Jack said, draping an arm around Rhys’s shoulders.

They fell into a comfortable silence that, eventually, Rhys had to break. “All right, it’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Shoot,” Jack said, looking out somewhere in the distance.

Rhys weighed his words. “I can tell you’re not the dating type, but—”

“No,” Jack interrupted, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.

“Come on,” Rhys persisted, jabbing him gently with his elbow. “I mean, I’m here for a while.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Rhys looked at him, trying to gauge whether or not he was being serious. Finally, just when he thought he had him pegged for a liar, Jack took a breath and said something that startled him. “I leave tomorrow morning, actually.”

Rhys looked away and worried his lip. “Ah,” he said at length. “Where are you going?”

“Tch.” Jack sat up straight again, popped his back, then leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “Nowhere you’re gonna be following.”

“I can pay my way,” Rhys started, eyes lighting up. “I do _not_ wanna stay at this shithole. No offense to you.”

“The answer is no, babe. Listen, you’re cute and all, but I am not your type.”

Rhys surprised both of them by laughing. He hadn’t meant to, but it just came out. After a second he managed to stop himself, but by then Jack was regarding him with annoyance. “I—I um, I just—” He paused to clear his throat. “You seemed like my type the day we met, if you know what I mean.”

Jack’s lips curled upward, but after a moment of looking at him, his expression turned serious again. He rose to his feet. “Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ll find other guys who wanna get their dick wet for a night.”

Rhys’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry?” he asked, standing along with him.

“You heard me, kid,” Jack said with a sigh. “Get your kicks somewhere else, okay?”

Rhys took offense. “I know you’re an asshole, but I don’t believe that you’re just gonna throw me away like this.”

“Believe it.”

“What’s your problem?”

“My problem is that I can see it in your eyes, Rhys. You really think this is gonna be your YA novel love story, don’t ya?” Jack held his hands up. “Let me tell you something before you start getting all doe-eyed with me, ‘kay? You really are a sweet kid, and I’m not gonna fuck that up for you.”

Rhys cocked his hip and crossed his arms. “What makes you think you have the power to mess me up, hm?” His smile was sharp. “I think I’m a little tougher than that.”

Jack wiped a hand across the bottom half of his face and deliberated with himself. Before he could reach a verdict, Rhys approached him, grabbed his face, and kissed him hard on the mouth.

He wasn’t sure whether or not he was winning until Jack wrapped his arms around him to pull him snug against his chest and kissed him back.

When they split, Jack didn’t move his face out of Rhys’s grasp. The latter gave him a victorious smile and said, “Hey, this is the first time we actually ever kissed.”

Jack sighed. “We’ll see about that ride, all right?”

Rhys beamed. “I thought you might say that.”

//

Rhys found him the day after standing by his car, smoking a cigarette, which he was shielding from the wind with his hand.

It was obnoxiously early in the morning, and if Rhys had known that Jack planned on leaving before the sun even rose, he wouldn’t have bothered going to bed. He approached the Mustang and tried not to yawn in a lungful of carcinogens.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he commented offhandedly, draping himself across Jack’s front until the other man mumbled and grudgingly stomped his cigarette out so he could thread his arms around Rhys’s waist.

“We’ve only known each other for a week, baby,” Jack said curtly.

Rhys pegged it as an aversion to mornings and silently circled around the front of the car to let himself into the passenger seat. When he got settled, he kicked his feet up on the dash and turned to look at him. “Where we going?”

“Tennessee,” Jack said, shutting his door with more force than was probably necessary. He pulled out of the makeshift parking lot, sending red dirt clouding around the vehicle. When he got the car onto the road, he rolled the window down and lit another cigarette.

Rhys wrinkled his nose. “My mom smokes those, too.”

Jack hummed. “What’s her name?”

“Huh?” Rhys asked, looking at him curiously. “My mom’s?”

Jack nodded to the affirmative, and so Rhys answered, “Marian. Why?”

“Thought it might be a good idea to know,” was the answer.

Rhys did not try to press any further.

An hour later they stopped at a gas station—a tiny, unassuming little corner store with patchy and worn advertisements for different kinds of beers in the window. Jack got out and crushed his cigarette before leaning back into the car. “Can I borrow your phone for a second, cupcake?”

Rhys handed him the phone and watched him open the station door. Above him, a little bell sounded, and in the span of a couple of seconds, the man had disappeared inside, lost behind the shelves.

A minute passed. Slowly, Rhys opened the car door and stepped out. He might have been young and naïve, but he wasn’t an idiot; something was wrong with Jack, and he didn’t plan on letting it go without saying.

It was surprisingly crowded inside. As he fought his way through, deeper and deeper into the store, he could pick Jack’s voice near the back, demanding and low.

He found him in the employee-only area with another man, who was facing away from him. Whatever he’d heard was the tail end of a conversation, because Jack pulled the phone away from his ear and handed it to the stranger just as Rhys approached.

“I owe you one, big guy,” Jack said, offering a pat on the back as reward. “You know my number. Call me when you’re in Louisiana.”

“On this phone?”

“No, stupid,” Jack growled. “On a public one. Do _not_ use that phone, got it?”

“Got it,” the man told him.

“I gotta go. Prettyboy’s out front and I don’t want him getting suspicious or anything.”

“See you soon, Jack.”

“Soon, buddy.”

When Jack started to turn around, Rhys ducked into the bathroom and held his breath.

He found himself in a panic. What if Jack was some kind of sex slaver or serial killer? What if Rhys had been done for the moment he set foot on that stupid farm? It would show his mother right for forcing him out of his home, for one thing, but, then again, bragging rights weren’t a thing when you’re dead.

His thoughts were derailed when someone knocked on the door. “Hey, hurry up in there, man. Some of us gotta use it, too.” It was Jack’s voice.

Rhys wanted to die. He leaned against the wall and tried to parse his thoughts into a hierarchy of usefulness. There were no windows in the bathroom, so he couldn’t escape without getting caught. He was just going to have to go out through the door and pretend like he hadn’t heard anything. He took a deep breath to steel himself.

When he walked out, Jack’s face immediately changed.

Rhys prayed that he would believe him, but it already seemed like a lost cause. “Hey! Sorry, I, uh, had to…” he gestured lamely behind himself at the toilet, and Jack nodded slowly.

“Great,” he drawled, stepping aside. “Hey, uh, Rhys…”

Oh, god. He was going to die, wasn’t he?

“Yeah?” he asked, taking an involuntary step back.

Jack sighed. “Come here,” he instructed, putting an arm around his shoulder and pulling him into the employee-only storage room. The man from before regarded them curiously but said nothing.

“What are you doing?” Rhys asked, trying not to sound betrayed. “What is this?”

Jack leaned against a nearby stack of crates and looked him dead in the eye. “How much did you hear?” he asked.

Rhys crumbled. “ _Fuck,_ I knew it.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, nerves abuzz. “You’re not gonna kill me, are you?”

Jack grimaced. “No. No, I’m not gonna kill you.”

“You’re gonna sell me into sex slavery,” Rhys said, putting his hands on either side of his face. “Oh, god—”

“What the? Rhys, no,” Jack replied, eyes dark. “The day I let someone else touch you is the day I’m six feet under, okay?” He waited, gauging Rhys’s expression carefully.

Warily, Rhys looked back at him. “Okay, then why does this human Hulk have my phone?” he asked, pointing at the stranger, who narrowed his eyes at him. “Sorry, no offense,” he tacked on. “You’re just, y’know… _huge_.”

Jack smiled without humor. “You’re gonna wanna sit down for this.”

Rhys remained on his feet and regarded the other challengingly.

“Okay, ah, have it your way, I guess.”

Rhys swallowed hard. He hoped he looked tougher than he felt.

“I’m gonna start with this,” Jack said, holding his hands up as if in defense. “There’s a reason I didn’t want you to get attached in the first place, so keep that one in mind.”

“Noted,” Rhys deadpanned.

Jack took a steady, calculated breath. “I’m the reason your step-dad got killed.”

Rhys was disinterested. “Is that it?”

Jack responded with a scoff and clearly had to reconsider his next words before he could say anything. “Well…you’re a card. No, that’s not all, but come _on_. I’m telling you that I hired a guy to off your dad. Don’t you care, like, even a little bit?”

“No.”

Rhys hadn’t known it was possible, but Jack managed to look more put-off than before. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” he replied. “We all have our issues.”

Jack’s face was hard to read now. “That’s an interesting way of putting it.”

“What’s the rest?”

“That I’m conning money out of your dear old mother by holding you ransom.”

That part hit home. “What the hell is your problem?” Rhys cried, taking a step toward Jack, who did not flinch. “Why? Don’t you have plenty already?”

“It’s part of the business, baby,” Jack said, not meeting his eyes.

“Don’t ‘baby’ me! You just—I can’t believe this is happening.” Rhys put his fingers to his temples and turned on his heel. “My mom is probably having a heart attack right now! And—and second of all,” he turned back around, “what _business_ are we talking about here?”

“Bad business,” was all Jack offered, but when Rhys gave him a look like a kicked dog, he caved. “It’s how I stay afloat. I hire big guys to shoot bigger guys so I can take the money and run. No one suspects a guy with a good name and a better business, so all I gotta do is move around a bit and smile real pretty when people get too close for comfort.”

Rhys was unnervingly quiet for a moment while he studied the other’s face.

“Say something,” Jack said with a sigh. “I can’t stand you looking at me with those puppy eyes.”

“So that’s it?” Rhys said, softer than he’d wanted. “Fuck me, ransom me, drop me off, done.”

Jack’s face was stony. “I warned ya, kid.”

“You—” Rhys had to stop himself and recalibrate. “You never gave a shit, did you?”

“No,” Jack said, voice even.

Rhys didn’t know what was worse: Jack’s answer, or the way he looked away when he said it. Playing the last dredges of hope he had left, Rhys approached him again and studied his face from a closer position. “You’re lying,” he whispered.

Jack turned away. “Doug, the phone,” he demanded with a wave of his hand. “Give it to me.”

Rhys’s eyes widened. “Hey! You can’t just ignore me and walk away!”

“Think I just did, sweetheart.”

The large man—Doug—gave the phone to him obediently.

“Take this,” Jack said, pushing the cell into Rhys’s chest, “and go, before I change my mind.”

“But—”

“Listen, I—”

“ _Jack_ ,” Rhys persisted, almost pathetically desperate.

“I’m sorry.”

Rhys blinked. It took him a second to process those words, but by the time he had, Jack had left the room. Moved by some unseen force, he followed. “Wait,” he started, arm outstretched for him, “where are you going?”

“Tennessee, remember?” Jack said simply. He kept pushing his way forward until he was through the front door and heading out to his car. “You’re lucky I like you, or this would have gone a lot differently.”

Rhys felt anger stab at his chest. “Wow, thank you, your lordship,” he spat. “I’m so honored to have had the privilege of being your cargo.”

“I’m gonna miss the sass, cutie,” Jack said, climbing into the front seat and grabbing his sunglasses from the visor. “Keep it real.”

Something inside of Rhys warred. He didn’t have long to sort out the way he felt before Jack shut the door and started the car, and by then pure panic was his main motivator. Funny, how your body knew what you wanted before your head, sometimes.

He scrambled for the front of the vehicle and smacked his hand down on the hood. “Wait!”

Jack rolled down the window. “Rhys, get lost,” he said, dripping poison. “I’m trying to make a point.”

“What point?” Rhys asked, incredulous.

“That I’m no good for you. I thought if I could get rid of you quick and send you cryin’ back home to mama, that maybe you’d have a shot.”

Rhys’s mouth went dry.

Jack put his sunglasses atop his head and leaned one arm out the window. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Yes,” Rhys breathed more than said.

“Don’t be cute,” Jack said, moving his hand to roll the window up again until Rhys stuck his hand in the glass’s path.

“No, I’m serious. You are—no kidding—the world’s biggest asshole. But I…” Rhys paused to gauge Jack’s expression, and when he found it to be quite open, he opted for the truth. “I really like you, for some stupid reason.”

“That’s the problem,” Jack said, looking angry. Whether with Rhys or himself, the former could not be sure. “Sure, sweet guy with nice legs comes wandering into town, sounds like a good deal for me. But when you think about it, this was doomed from the start.”

“Why?” Rhys was getting more frustrated with every word. “Because you think I can’t handle your shit?”

“Put it together, all right? _I’m_ your town’s crime problem. That _guy_? That sicko who’s the reason you’re even here right now? It’s me, babe. I’m not a good guy. While I would love it if you tagged along, I have enough shit under my belt to go and ruin your life, too.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Rhys said accusingly, “I think your real problem is something else.”

“Like what?” Jack asked with a challenging snort. “Enlighten me.”

“You’re afraid of commitment.”

Jack didn’t look amused to hear this. “I don’t know what world you live in, but—”

“No, wait.” Rhys pointed at him like he’d caught him red-handed. “See? Look, you were about to make a joke. It’s a defense mechanism.”

“Wow, when do you get that psychology degree?” Jack’s smirk was short-lived when realized he had done it again without even thinking. “Shit.” He shook his head. “Okay, so what, huh? So, maybe I got a problem with abandonment.” He faked a pout. “You know, mommy didn’t love me very much.”

Rhys narrowed his eyes and leaned in the window. Dammit, if Jack was going to play, then Rhys was going to play, too. “Yeah? Don’t we all have that problem? What are you gonna do about it?”

Jack didn’t say anything.

“Maybe,” Rhys said, with hard inflection, “you do whatever mommy tells you because you’re trying—really, _trying_ —to get the approval you never had as a kid. The kind that makes you feel like a good son.”

Still, Jack’s mouth did not move. He turned his gaze ahead, staring at nothing.

“But then I found this pretty, rich guy to screw and dump,” Rhys said, voice low. “So I could beat him at his own game,” —their gazes met, heated and serious— “and finally feel like a winner for once.”

It was with an uncharacteristic frown of weakness that Jack accepted his defeat. He draped a hand over the steering wheel and used the other to unlock the passenger door. “Get in,” he said.

“I love you,” Rhys said, sudden and serious.

“Don’t say that,” Jack replied, tone clipped.

“I’m serious,” Rhys tried again, not moving until Jack finally conceded by looking him in the eye.

Quietly, he got into the passenger seat and buckled up.

Jack, to his surprise, killed the engine. Before either of them could speak, he leaned across the console and caught Rhys by the mouth, kissing him with an intensity that Rhys sincerely hoped meant something.

And so he kissed back, feeling electricity crackle when Jack put his hands on his cheeks almost possessively. When they pulled apart, he lowered his sunglasses back over his eyes and started the car up again. He said nothing as they pulled away from the gas station.

Rhys looked out the window, consumed in thought.

“Hey,” Jack said at length, his eyes not leaving the road, “you know what’d get you the gold star award for best son?”

Rhys looked at him. “Uh—what?”

“Telling her you kicked your kidnapper’s ass and handed it to him on a plate.”

Despite the absurdity of the situation, a grin blossomed on Rhys’s face. “She’d probably get pissed it took me so long.”

In a moment decidedly worthy of merit in his book, Jack smiled. “Then maybe we’ll wait a little while before we tell her you’re okay.”

“You are such a dick,” Rhys said with a laugh that made everything suddenly seem perfect.

“Love you, too,” Jack replied, draping his arm over the back of Rhys’s seat.

Rhys bit his lip to keep a dumb grin at bay. “That’s kind of gay,” he said at length.

 “This is going to be a long trip, isn’t it?”

“I can only hope,” Rhys replied, satisfied.

Jack raised one corner of his mouth into a smile. “Then that makes two of us.”


End file.
